


Paving the Way

by EobardThane



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 14:32:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19792867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EobardThane/pseuds/EobardThane
Summary: Paladin Roxanna Cole is one of five Paladins who carry the X designation, Paladin-Special Operations. Leader of the first team to enter the Commonwealth, she's returned to Boston to prepare the way for the Prydwen and its soldiers. Alone.





	1. Recon Squad Escher

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04/15/2284

The Commonwealth

Recon Squad Escher

Roxanna grips the Super Mutant by the throat in her armored hand, slamming it down into the ground with a thud. Gripping its head in her free hand, she violently snaps its neck as another mini-nuke goes off next to her.

The radiation counter in her helmet spikes wildly before dipping back to background levels. Pulling her shotgun from her back, she climbs to her feet and fires over Kent's helmeted head.

The Super Mutant crumples in the middle of swinging its weapon, a board with bloody nails driven through it.

Roxanna looks up at a crumbling building with a mostly intact rooftop, then kneels next to Winters gently prodding the bleeding wound in his side. Her external speakers click on with her microphone.

"Not much further, Winters." He nods, stooping lower she drops one of his arms around her armored shoulders and hauls him to his feet.

Signaling to Kent with her free hand as she hurries towards the building, her armored boots thudding on the loose gravel and debris.

Two fingers at her eyes, a quick hand wave over her head. Cover, on me.

A Super Mutant with a minigun opens up on them, dust and debris exploding from the ground. Bullets flit by her pockmarking the building as she hurries towards the entryway.

Getting through the doorway, she yanks a demolition pack from her belt and drops it against the door frame.

Winters cries out in pain as she manhandles him through the rubble-strewn building, her green eyes quickly flicking from dark shadows to blind corners.

"Hang in there, come on- up the stairs." She tells Winters before stopping at the first landing, just in time to see Kent dash through the doorway. Turning and hauling Winters back to his feet, she slaps the detonator clipped to her belt.

The building shakes as the doorway caves in with debris, and Kent jogs to a stop panting. He drops the clip from his assault rifle and slaps in a fresh one from the harness wrapped around his thigh.

"You were waiting for me right?" Kent asks, a wry smirk crossing his split lip.

"Of course." She replies, handing Winters to him pulling the shotgun from her back. Roxanna's headlamp blinks to life.

"Keep up, four floors to the roof." Roxanna adds double-timing it up the stairs towards the roof.

She was panting by the time she put her armored boot through the door to the roof, knocking the door clear off its hinges and sending it spinning through the air and crashing over the edge of the building.

"Trap that door behind us." She orders, pausing to look over the edge at the four Mutants trying to pry debris free from the door.

"We clear?" Kent asks, watching as Roxanna turns away from the edge casually tossing a mini-nuke over her shoulder. It drops out of sight followed by a loud rumble.

"Yep." She replies, Kent smiles as he flicks the taut tripwire to the bottlecap mine with practiced finesse.

"We're trapped." He adds, shouldering his assault rifle kneeling beside Winters.

Roxanna exhales a breath before pulling the canvas pack free from her armored shoulders and retrieves her beacon pulser. She thumbs the big, friendly red button, it emits a confirmation tone then quietly begins to drone out a steady beep.

The sun was just setting over the horizon when the beating thrum of Vertibird blades tears the silence. Roxanna sat with her back to the building's railing, hand's on her power armored knees.

"You hear that?" Kent asks, breaking the wordless hours since they hit the beacon.

The six weeks spent pushing into the Commonwealth weren't pleasant, her squad was weary. Roxanna pushes herself to her feet, eyes focusing on the ever-growing dot on the horizon.

"Vertibird." Kent says, his shoulders sagging in relief that hung in the air. The dot slowly grew into a Transport model Vertibird, its fuselage boldly emblazoned with the crest of the Brotherhood.

Roxanna ignites her signal flare and wedges it into a crevice of missing cement railing. The Vertibird circles slowly, the doors already open. A power armored soldier manned the minigun on the other opposite side.

The Vertibird slowly maneuvers toward the building and sets down, the armored figure removes his helmet.

Danse smiles.

"Welcome home, Paladin."


	2. The New Mission

6/17/2284

The Prydwen, Above the Capitol Wasteland

  
Roxanna sighs as the warm water pours over her face and tosses back her mane of soaking black hair. She turns the knob until it groaned and the water shut off. Wringing her hair out she steps onto the towel outside the shower then slips into a pair of sweatpants and a worn-out tanktop. Stopping to glance in the half faded mirror, she tosses over the longer part of her hair that cascaded down her left shoulder hiding part of her face, the right side closely cropped and swept towards the back in something passing for a hairstyle. She blew herself a kiss and shuffled out into her bedroom.

Her quarters on the Prydwen were spacious, comfortable and private. This was rare and a privilege on the small ship where nearly all the soldiers, including superior officers, lived in relative openness. The quarters were just across the hall from Elder Maxson's and had been designed at conception with her input. Roxanna and Elder Maxson had a long history, they hadn't always agreed but they had a deep respect for each other as warriors.

Roxanna had first met the Elder when he was ten and she was sixteen and cemented their bond when he came to her quarters in the Citadel and asked her to help him lead the Brotherhood to victory, to wipe the Super Mutant threat from the face of the Capitol once and for all. Back to back, they fought until the bodies were stacked higher than their heads...or so the story goes.

She opens the fridge in the small kitchen and leans over to snatch a Sunset Sasparilla. Placing the edge of her palm against the top she whips her hand along the bottlecap and sends it spinning across the small space where it lands neatly in a tin full of bottlecaps with a subtle clink. Tipping the bottle to her lips, she taps the play button on her Wakemaster 3000, the holotape cradle whirs as it collapses into the clock and the speakers hum to life as a lively beat begins to fill the room.

“ _Children behave, that's what they say when we're together..._ ” the female singer echoes through the cabin and into the hall of the Prydwen, Roxanna's head bobbing as she sits on the stool at her work table pulling the towel covering the broken down FN P90 in front of her.

“--t _rying to get away into the night and then you put your arms around me  
And we tumble to the ground and then you say I think we're alone now_\--” She blows through the short barrel and shoves a coarse brush through and blows it again. The P90 was broken down into its six component pieces and she drops the barrel back into its seat when a resounding knock at her door echoes through the room.

“One second!” Roxanna shouts as she crosses around the kitchenette and past her terminal desk and couch, throwing the bolt on the door she pulls it open.

“Arthur.”

“Paladin.” Maxson grunts as she holds open the door for him and gestures for him to enter.

“You know Paladin, I don't appreciate you using my given name over Elder.” He adds, eyeing her with displeasure as he looks at her clothing. Roxanna looks down at her clothes and then sighs, rolling her eyes.

“Forgive me, Elder Maxson, we've only known each other since you were ten.” She tugs the tank top over her head exposing her breasts as Maxson suddenly clears his throat and turns away, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Roxy wasn't known for her shame, although it was a common trait among the Brotherhood it was the consequence of barracks life.

“Still listening to this old world noise?” Maxson asks, gesturing at the radio on the table. Roxy taps the pause button as she passes by, walking around the partition to her bed and yanking open a locker. The one thing that set Roxanna apart was her fascination borderline obsession with the old world before the war. While he believed her to be fiercely loyal to the Brotherhood, this one quality was always tugging at the back of his mind.

Roxanna tugs on a pair of black denim pants and a t-shirt, opening the locker next to it she pulls a black and red striped leather Paladin's jacket from its hanger and tugs it on over her clean white shirt. Dropping her holotags around her neck she shuts the locker and finishes buttoning the coat.

“You can turn around now, shy boy.” Elder Maxson turns back glaring at her but with a shared smirk on both their faces. She sweeps up her Sasparilla from the bedside table and moves around the room to the kitchenette.

“Don't call me shy...or boy.” He replied. Roxy was allowed to jab him when the door was closed but when the door was open he expected absolute respect and courtesy and she always gave it to him, earning her leeway.

“So what brings you all the way to my quarters?” She asks, tugging open the fridge she offers him a cherry Nuka-Cola which he declines. She snags her own Sunset from the counter and takes a swig.

“I'm sending you back into the shit.” He says Roxanna looks crestfallen as she leans against the counter, setting her bottle down she folds her arms across her chest.

“Where to?”

“Back to the Commonwealth.” Maxson replies, he watches as Roxy sighs and brushes the long hair cascading down the left side of her face over her left ear.

“I assume I can speak freely, Elder?”

“Of course.”

“I won't refuse a direct order but I don't want to go back.” Roxanna fixes her ice blue eyes on him.

Maxson looks awkward for a moment as he scrapes the floor with his boot looking down.

“I've read your reports, I know that this last one was--” He drifts off, extending his hand as if searching for the right word.

“Bad.” She interjects.

“Yeah, bad.” He completes his thought with a sigh.

“I'll take a beer if you got one.” He adds, she tugs open her fridge and tosses it to him. Maxson pries the top off with one end of his holotags and flicks the bottlecap into the tin next to her fridge. He takes a long pull and sighs again.

“What is it, Arthur?” She asks in the awkward silence.

“You haven't sighed this much since that girl wouldn't go steady with you.” She adds with a smirk.

“I'm sending you back to the Commonwealth for a very important mission. Deep recon. You're not coming back until we move in as one.” He says, his words hanging in the air between them.

“We-well, I mean those insertion plans are for--”

“Three years from now.” Maxson finishes for her, nodding.

“You want to insert my squad into hostile territory...and you expect us to survive...for three _years_?

“Not your squad, just you Roxy.” He looks down into the longneck of his beer then drinks it before looking back up at her, Roxy's mouth agape.

“Have I done something to piss you off?”

“No, of course not.”

“I'm the best you hav--”

“Which is why I'm sending you.”

“Arthur!” She protests.

“I need contacts, and connections, reputations built, outposts established, fuckin' maps drawn and a few local recruits wouldn't hurt.”

“That sounds like the job of an entire platoon. Not a single Paladin.”

“You're not just some Paladin Roxanna, you carry the rank of Paladin-Special Operations. You're one of only five handpicked by the Elders.”

“So recall Paladins Case and Henley, give me some backup.”

“They can't be spared from their upcoming scout missions.”

“This is bullshit, Arthur.” Roxanna protested again, folding her arms across her chest.

“It's a direct order, Paladin. Make your arrangements, you leave in three days.” Maxson growls, setting his bottle down on the couch side table with a resounding clink. Maxson turns and abruptly slams the hatch behind him, Roxanna jams her fist into the support pillar beside her.


	3. Indiana

06/22/2284

The Glowing Sea

Roxanna stumbles over the hill, gripping her rifle in one hand and using her other hand to scramble up the muddy hillside, boots slipping and gouging deep trenches. Darkness had set in, and thunder mingled with the occasional green-tinted lightning strike to light her way. She waited until complete darkness before she snapped on the light attached the strap of her pack illuminating the path ahead in eerie red light.

Rain pattered the ground around her as she crests the hilltop and she tugs on a black ball cap over her hair. Attached to her pack strap was an old tin box labeled potted meat, reaching for it she unclips it from her pack and flicks the switch on the side. The gauge cut into the lid lights up and begins ticking wildly, first zero then ten then back down again. She flicks the switch off again and clips it back to her shoulder strap. A rad storm was coming, and she was out in the open.

Peering out into the darkness, she turns in a circle scanning her surroundings then does it again, this time a bolt of lightning illuminates a shape far off in the distance. She tries squinting into the darkness again before she raises her rifle and peers down the scope. Lightning strikes again illuminating the shape in more detail. She lowers her rifle, a plane, it was a crashed commercial airplane. Roxanna lets the rifle fall slung to her chest and looks up at the sky, then slides in the mud back down the hill.

It takes Roxanna ten minutes at a dead run to reach the aircraft, the rain was pouring, burning little holes into her cap and her leather jacket. She ducks under the bent wing of the aircraft, beneath the cluster of four jet engines and pauses to catch her breath. Turning her rifle to one side she checks that there's a round in the receiver and raises the rifle gripping the fore handle and moving towards the hatch, her knees bent as she moves to avoid banging her head. The fuselage was mostly intact, the hatch on the side was still sealed. Lowering her rifle she tries the crank handle and it stubbornly refuses to move. Unslinging her rifle she jams the quad rail into the center of the crank and puts her shoulder underneath the stock, extending the stock to its end she pushes up with her legs until it groans and gives. Turning the rest by hand she tugs open the hatch and steps inside turning on her shoulder light and pulling the hatch closed behind her.

She coughs in the dust and wrinkles her nose at the smell of mold and decay, flicking on the light at the end of her rail she raises it and thumbs the safety to fire. There was the sound of scuffling as she moves past the rows on either side of the hatch to the middle aisle, turning in place she shines her lights down the front then turns and peers down the aisle to the tail. She turns back moving slowly towards the flight cabin until she comes to the hatch leading up the stairs to the pilot cabin, yanking on the handle it clicks without opening. Locked.

She turns suddenly at the sound of scuffling again and scans the darkness. Sweeping the light and barrel from left to right slowly, she bites her bottom lip then turns back to the cockpit hatch. Popping the snap on one of her belt pouches, Roxy pulls out a little leather case and slips a lockpick and a tension arm from it. Thunder rumbles and echoes in the plane as she kneels at eye level and inserts the lockpick, lifting the tumblers with a little effort she grunts as she twists the tension arm and the lock clicks open yanking the door handle and raising her rifle. Her light illuminates the staircase leading up into the cockpit and she slowly takes the stairs one a time until it opens up.

The cockpit seats were empty and the glass windows of the cockpit were still intact, it would make for solid shelter. She coughs, then erupts into a fit of coughing as lightning illuminates the cabin, wiping her mouth she turns in place to see a body sitting against the wall in the corner. The body was clad in black fatigues and denim jeans, a knee-length leather duster and the red-tinted gas mask of a New Republic of California Ranger.

Moving closer, rifle raised and finger brushing the trigger she kicks his boot. The foot moves then falls limply to one side again. Lowering her rifle she removes his helmet then tugs off the mask.

“Well, hello.” She says aloud, eyebrows raised as she looks at the very handsome and very dead man.

“You are a long way from home, friend.” She adds, popping the leather snap on his shoulder holster she pulls the sidearm from it. A Beretta model 94, she drops the clip and examines it. Fifteen rounds of nine millimeter, snapping the slide she ejects the round from the slide and catches it in her palm. Sixteen rounds. Examing the gun she rests it in her open palm and brushes the dirt and grime from the grip revealing an etched skull and crossbones, and the word “Ranger” below it. Looking down the blue sight dots, she nods appreciatively.

She rests the gun on the floor next to her and starts to empty the man's pockets spreading their contents at her side, then proceeds to tug off his clothes. Tugging on the heavy leather duster she shrugs her shoulders into it and lets it hang.

“Not a bad fit.” She says in the quiet of the cockpit and sits down next to the body, inventorying the contents of his pockets. Two holotapes, a hastily scrawled note, some bottlecaps and a couple of magazines for the Beretta. She picks up the blade the Ranger had clipped his belt. An Alaskan Ulu blade, she had only seen one in her lifetime, carried by an older member of the Brotherhood and he had called it a family heirloom from the battle for Anchorage. She bends her knees belting his armored kneepads around them and sighs, resting her head back against the bulkhead.

The scuffling noise breaks the quiet, turning into a subtle clicking down the base of the stairs and then a low growl. Roxanna raises her rifle and tucks the stock against her shoulder aiming down between her knees. A nose appears, black sniffing and twitching, then the head of a dog. It turns to face her and stares at her with ice blue eyes almost like her own and a scar above its right eye. Her finger drops onto the trigger as it growls, lowering its head but not moving closer.

“Hi.” She says in the silence between them as they stare at each other. The dog was a little rough looking but had obviously been doing fine taking care of itself.

It looked well-fed, its nails were not overgrown, it either belonged to someone or it was a survivor. Roxanna purses her lips then slowly raises her hand open palm out from the foregrip of her rifle, then slowly lowers the rifle. Reaching slowly into the pocket of her cargo pants she retrieves an orange foil packet. The dog cocks his head at the crinkling of the packaging that said funnel cake on the side. She opens it and pulls a bit free taking a bite she makes an “mmm” sound then breaks off another piece and offers it out in her palm. The dog cautiously approaches her then licks the cake from her palm chewing while staring at her. She then reaches out to pet him and he let her.

“Well, that wasn't so hard now was it?” She rubs behind his ear then his scruff and unearths a collar that his fur had grown over. Tugging on it a little she found a crudely etched tag that said “Indiana”.

“Indiana?” She asks the dog, he tilts his head ears perking and chuffs quietly.

She ruffles his ears and smiles.

“I'm Roxanna.”


End file.
